


Recycling Bin

by Umecchi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umecchi/pseuds/Umecchi
Summary: Hidan just wants to kill things. Collecting souls of the already-dead is not his idea of fun, even if it is for Lord Jashin.





	

_Ugh, not another stabbing,_ Hidan thinks disgustedly.

The dumb fuck even has a fucking samurai sword, but instead of slashing, creating glorious swaths of blood to colour the streets like macabre graffiti, the dumbass just knocks the victim out with an amateur curb-stomp and starts stabbing.

“Come on,” Hidan complains. “You’re not even stabbing the bitch right. Stop holding the sword by the handle like a pussy: hold the blade, really feel it penetrating the flesh, fuck up your palms so you’ll feel the wounds it weeks after, still riding the high of the kill.”

Hidan is ignored, of course; he’s The Grim Reaper, a solitary being that treads on a plane of existence parallel to humans and, because humans are deaf and dumb to anything from other realms of existence, he is able to see but remain unseen, to observe while remaining unobserved. It’s like being the ultimate voyeur, and Hidan loves it. On his days off he can sit in on some pretty raunchy sex. He can also steal whatever shit he wants – like booze and weed and chocolate – without worrying about getting thrown in jail.

It’s great – really. Totally fantastic – even without the thrill that he used to get when he was alive and getting away with doing bad shit, and being unable to actually join in on any sex because he’s intangible to humans, and alcohol and drugs failing get him high or shitfaced and the food tasting like all the flavor has been extracted from it for the sole purpose of _fucking with him_ —.

Oh who is he kidding. Being The Grim Reaper sucks balls. He can put up with all that shit though; he can usually power through it with the use of his left hand and the euphoric knowledge that he is serving his god faithfully. What he can’t put up with, however….

“You fucking incompetent!” Hidan rages when the dumbfuck trips and impales himself upon his own sword. He swipes his scythe through the idiot, and it fazes through, as ineffectual as an old fart’s wrinkly erection. “You _deserve_ to fucking die, you limp dick fuck!”

What Hidan _can’t_ put up with is not being able to fucking _kill people!_

 

* * *

 

Souls, after they exit the body, appear as stupid little white orbs. Once the idiot with the sword and the idiot’s victim are dead, thin streams of their silvery souls come up and out through their eyes to convalesce above their heads to round out into small, semi-tangible spheres.

Hidan reaches out to the victim’s soul, but it emits a sound like the sad clink of a triangle and shies away.

“Why do I have to deal with this shit every single time?” Hidan says, dropping his head back to look at the sky as if there’s some higher power that’ll take pity on him, even though he knows full well that the only higher power that could help him doesn’t live on some pansy-ass cloud and would probably just laugh if Hidan filed a complaint.

The souls of victims are always traumatized in some way from the way they died, and the ones that were murdered are always the worst. Hidan learned early on in his many years as The Grim Reaper that yelling and threatening them only makes them more skittish, therefore making his job of ferrying them to Lord Jashin much more difficult. So he uses a different tactic, one that turns his mouth sour like puke is crawling up his throat.

“It’s alright,” Hidan says. He hates that he sounds so sincere – he’s had too much practice. “You’re safe now.”

The dumb orb perks up, producing a hopeful sound like the whispery-soft high note from a flute.

“That’s right,” Hidan says reassuringly, doing his best not to grimace. “I’m here to bring you to a better place.”

It hesitates, then begins to float closer . . . closer . . . then it drops, sagging sadly and projecting strains of a self-pitying violin.

“Yeah,” says Hidan. “You’re dead. But you can’t change that, and if you linger around here you’ll never find peace or be with your friends and family again.”

 _Gag me,_ Hidan thinks. He doesn’t think he can handle much more of this.

Thankfully, the little orb seems to agree with him. It goes right up to Hidan and trills questioningly at him.

“Eh, I don’t have any pockets or anything so just hang on somewhere,” he says, waving disinterestedly. Now that he’s gotten the soul’s trust, he doesn’t have to pretend to care. Thank Jashin.

“But you,” Hidan says, turning on the murderer’s soul that had previously been bobbing sedately above it’s lifeless meat sack. The hand that isn’t occupied by holding his scythe darts out and snatches the piece of shit soul. He squeezes it in his hand, and it wheezes like a punctured bagpipe. “I’ll keep a tight hold of you, you incompetent shitstain.”

 

* * *

 

Hidan visits five more death scenes and collects eight more souls before he goes to Lord Jashin to deliver them for their final Judgement.

Jashin is the god of humanity, which also makes him the god of everything that has to do with humans. This makes him the god of life, death, love, hate, good, evil, heaven, hell – basically everything to do with humans, and it is an ever-expanding list because humans are a greedy, malcontent species that just doesn’t know when enough is enough. Lord Jashin has consumed many other gods to take over their duties because humans don’t know when to leave things alone – like when humans domesticated dogs and then suddenly dogs were now his responsibility. Who wants to be the god of dogs? Barely anybody even eats them anymore….

Hidan doesn’t even know if there are any other gods besides Jashin even still in existence; humans have spread and devoured their surroundings so thoroughly that it seems unlikely, and it’s not like Jashin is volunteering the information.

This means Lord Jashin is the most powerful god out there.

Lord Jashin also happens to be the creepy bald guy who hangs around parks, sitting in the middle of a bench and taking up all the space, and stares unnervingly at people from behind his dark aviator sunglasses. Beside him, always, is an odd blue bin with three arrow on it that chase after each other and create a shape just like an ouroboros, except instead of a circle the arrows make a triangle. A recycling bin. Hidan doesn’t know its purpose, just that it is always there.

Lord Jashin wears no shirt, just an unzipped grey jacket, black slacks, and sandals. His age is indeterminable – he looks like he could be over fifty, a frail old man where all that’s left are rib bones and the loose skin sinking into each divot, but he also looks like he could be a young man aged before his time by a harsh life, maybe homelessness, maybe drugs, maybe disease.

Hidan marches up to his god with confidence, six souls clinging to his shoulders or snuggling into his neck and three souls scrunched together in a tight fist. The ones hanging onto Hidan hum a happy tune, while the ones in Hidan’s fist wheeze like they are dying all over again.

“Here,” Hidan says, thrusting the squished, waste-of-life souls under Jashin’s nose.

Jashin looks down at the abused souls casually. “Ah, thank you Hidan,” he says with amusement. He takes the souls Hidan is holding out and needs only to beckon to the six still cozying up to Hidan with a single finger before they are bumping into each other to reach him.

Jashin takes off his sunglasses. Where his eyes should have been, instead there are two additional mouths. The one on the left has three layers of crowded teeth, sharp like a sharks; the mouth on the right has normal teeth, if one considers teeth that are pristine white and straight to the point of blinding to be normal. Both eye-mouths grin widely at Hidan, curving into viciously happy semi-circles.

Lord Jashin embodies the saying “you eat with your eyes.”

One by one, Jashin weighs the souls in front of his face and, as Hidan knew was inevitable, the three souls that had previously been gripped in Hidan’s punishing fist are brought up to Jashin’s left eye-mouth, where they are gnashed and grinded and shredded to pieces before being swallowed. The six that had been clinging to Hidan are brought up to Jashin’s right eye-mouth, where they are placed delicately upon its tongue and swallowed whole, no chewing required. Hidan watches the entire time, trying to summon the same reverence he felt the first time he saw Lord Jashin perform Judgement, and is disappointed in himself when he can’t.

“I want out,” Hidan says after the last soul is consumed and Jashin’s sunglasses are back in place.

“Hm?”

“I don’t wanna do this fucking job anymore. I’m fucking done with it,” Hidan says, voice laden with pent-up frustration. “I wanna be released from your services and go on to my afterlife.”

“Oh?” Jashin says lightly. “Even if that afterlife is one of punishment?”

Hidan hesitates, then he growls. “Yeah, I’m fucking done with this shit. All I fucking deal with is sniveling and shitheads that wouldn’t know a good sacrifice even if they were the ones getting fucking cut up.”

“Why Hidan,” says Jashin mockingly, “if I didn’t know better I’d say you were feeling sorry for the victims.”

Hidan scoffs loudly. “As if! I just think the ones that kill ‘em are fuckers – doesn’t mean I feel guilty or anything!”

“Guilt?” Jashin questions. “No, I suppose not. Then you might begin to feel guilty for all the people you killed before you died yourself and entered my service. And then . . . wouldn’t you be just like these ‘fuckers’ you seem to despise so much?”

“Shut up!” Hidan yells before he can censure himself. “Just throw me in Hell already!”

Jashin smirks. “Hmm . . . unfortunately for you, I’m not quite done with you yet.”

Hidan inhales deeply. “Lord Jashin, as your devoted and loyal and _only_ follower I humbly request—.”

“Sorry, no can do,” Jashin interrupts, smiling insincerely up at Hidan. He hasn’t moved from where he sits on the park bench.

Hidan’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “You fucker—!”

“Now now, no need to get blasphemous,” Jashin says, grinning now. “Though I can’t fulfill your request, I can at least give you a break. How does rebirth sound?”

Hidan still spitting and cursing furiously, Jashin reaches out a hand and pokes him. Hidan’s form shrinks, getting smaller and smaller, until all that is left is an opaque orb. It flies into Jashin’s outstretched hand.

“You definitely wouldn’t thank me for this,” Jashin says to Hidan’s soul, which is making noises like an electric guitar, “but I am very bored. And this will be very fun – for me at least.” Then he throws Hidan’s soul into the blue recycling bin beside him and snickers to himself.

“Until next time, my devoted follower.”


End file.
